


Honmaru Ibun

by wiseorfool



Series: Honmaru Ibun [1]
Category: Touken Ranbu: Atsukashiyama Ibun, 刀剣乱舞 | Touken Ranbu
Genre: Gen, Toumyu - Freeform, pre-atsukashiyama ibun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiseorfool/pseuds/wiseorfool
Summary: Kashuu Kiyomitsu is reasonably certain that idleness has driven Imanotsurugi a little bit mad.  It wouldn't matter, except they're the only two swords in this massive, empty citadel, and Kashuu might be going a little mad, too.





	Honmaru Ibun

It is a somewhat lonely life they lead, these one-time swords.

He is the first to be summoned after Kashuu Kiyomitsu, and he leaves the citadel in tatters. Imanotsurugi is not meant for idleness and the saniwa, although kind and thoughtful when present, is an inattentive and easily distracted master. 

Kashuu does his best, but he doesn't quite know how to handle Imanotsurugi's eccentric, erratic behavior at the best of times, nor his quiet, disconnected stares on moonless nights. There isn't much fieldwork to handle when it's only the two of them at the citadel, but the fieldwork suffers anyway. Kashuu hates to get his hands dirty and Imanotsurugi loves to make messes. More than once, Kashuu has woken to the sight of tomato plants ripped from the earth and rearranged in chaotic, meaningless patterns. To empty stable doors left wide open and horses made of bundled wheat hidden inside. To Imanotsurugi, hair and kimono in tangled disarray, standing over him with an all too thoughtful look in his eyes.

Far be it from him to ever say so aloud, but he's certain Imanotsurugi is entirely insane.

Things get a little better when their master returns briefly, bringing a new blade to the citadel.

Imanotsurugi takes to Sayo Samonji like a fish to water. They are inseparable from the moment Imanotsurugi lays eyes on Sayo, and though Kashuu thinks the relationship seems a little one sided, Sayo never complains. He only nods patiently through endless ( _endless_ ) chatter and sits quietly while Imanotsurugi spins stories for his own amusement.

At least the tomatoes aren't getting ripped out of the ground anymore. Kashuu is happy enough with that, and happier still that Sayo actually helps out with the fieldwork. The more Sayo does, the less Kashuu has to do and the less Kashuu has to do, the longer his manicure lasts. It's a win-win, really.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

The arrival of Sayo's brothers, the saniwa breezing in and out with the two of them in quick succession, should not be a bad thing. There are five blades in the citadel now, and before leaving again, their master promises Kashuu this means they are now strong enough to be sent on sorties.

Sayo shows as much eagerness as he ever does when he introduces the larger Samonji swords to Imanotsurugi. Imanotsurugi launches himself from his perch on the roof and into Kousetsu Samonji's arms.

Kousetsu looks seriously at the tantou he has so abruptly found himself carrying for several long moments. “There is a demon inside you,” he says at last.

A flicker of something dark crosses Imanotsurugi's face, there and gone in an instant. And then he's laughing with his arms flung wide. Kousetsu is forced to readjust his hold quickly lest Imanotsurugi go toppling.

“A demon!” He shouts it between peals of laughter. “I was taught by demons! I tamed a demon! But I have never been called one before!”

Something cold crawls down the back of Kashuu's neck. The Samonji brothers look collectively puzzled, but otherwise unconcerned. They did not hear Imanotsurugi screaming the first nights after his arrival.

Days later, Kashuu finds Imanotsurugi in the fields, humming cheerfully to himself while he uproots a row of beans and strips the plants of their leaves, laying the pieces down in a pattern that at first glance has no real meaning.

Kashuu sighs heavily. “You couldn't have stuck to the tomatoes?”

“Sayo's brothers love him,” is all Imanotsurugi says in response before he goes back to laying out mutilated bean plants with a smile.

Kashuu learned a long time ago that there's no point in talking to Imanotsurugi when he's like this. If he tries, it will turn out they're having two different conversations, neither of them really understanding each other. He resigns himself to the loss of a row of beans, reasoning that it's only _one_ row, and with only five swords in the citadel it won't make that much of a difference. The rest of the fieldwork is uneventful and when Kashuu sleeps, he sleeps with the satisfaction of a filthy job done well.

He does not expect to jolt awake in a cold sweat, his resting mind having done what his waking mind could not.

Sayo's brothers love him.

The meaningless patterns shaped out of leaves and roots and dirt.

They are not meaningless. They are battle strategies, crafted with the only tokens Imanotsurugi has at his disposal.

Imanotsurugi is not insane. He is _desperate._

Kashuu throws himself to his feet, the futon bunching up beneath him. Heavy blankets tangle around his ankle. He kicks them off without any regard for them; the material, already old and worn, tears at the seams. The thin paper covering the shoji does the same when he flings it open too quickly. His sword-- his self-- he leaves behind in his haste.

 _Sayo's brothers love him_ , Imanotsurugi's voice echoes in his head.

Yoritomo must have loved Yoshitsune, too, once.

Kashuu runs. He runs through empty, familiar hallways. He runs down closed in corridors. The citadel is larger than the Ikedaya, broader, more open, but his anxiety makes it feel closed in and stifling.

“Imanotsurugi!” The shoji slides and hits its frame with a sharp crack. Imanotsurugi's elegant, open room is empty. There are two futon laid out, one pristine, the other a wrinkled mess. Kashuu abandons the room and runs again.

He loses his footing around a corner and stumbles, hitting the floor with a jolt he can feel from hip to jaw. The pain of it startles him, but is quickly forgotten. 

There, not ten steps ahead, Imanotsurugi stands with one pale hand outstretched toward the hanging bamboo curtain that separates the Samonji from the rest of the citadel. His sword-- his self-- hangs loose in his hand, the naked blade gleaming in a thread of moonlight.

“ _Imanotsurugi._ ” Kashuu reaches out, not sure what to do or what to say in a situation as profoundly bizarre as this. His hand tangles in Imanotsurugi's unbound hair, a river of silver splitting the closed-off veranda in two. He latches onto it and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Your hair. It's tangled, let me comb it.”

It's stupid. It's the stupidest thing he could have said in that moment and he regrets it as soon as the words fall out of his mouth but--

It works.

The shadows fall from Imanotsurugi's face as he turns toward Kashuu. He looks brighter, the tinge of something bloody gone from his eyes in an instant.

The feeling that chokes Kashuu's lungs can only be relief. He climbs to his feet, a handful of silver still trapped between his fingers. “Your self,” he manages after a moment.

“Ah!” Imanotsurugi's gentle surprise comes out in a huff of air. He looks down at his sword as though surprised to see it unsheathed. “Of course,” he says, and covers it once more in generously lacquered wood.

With that simple movement, the threat passes. Imanotsurugi presses himself against Kashuu's legs and murmurs his desire to be carried into Kashuu's belly. Kashuu complies without thinking, lifting Imanotsurugi into his arms. He turns and walks the distance back to Imanotsurugi's opulent room, where their combined weight makes the flooring chirp beneath his feet.

Imanotsurugi wriggles his way out of Kashuu's arms and runs to a small chest. He pulls one, two, three combs out of it, discarding each in turn and leaving behind a casual disarray that makes a muscle in Kashuu's cheek twitch. It's obvious now who the wrinkled futon belongs to. The fourth comb, beautifully carved from bone, passes muster. Imanotsurugi presses it impatiently into Kashuu's waiting hands and flings himself onto his knees.

This is the kind of work Kashuu prefers. Creating beauty, maintaining beauty. He combs through Imanotsurugi's hair, occasionally using his fingers to break apart nests of tangles. Their master, when present, is loving and generous. Their master has not been back in weeks, and Imanotsurugi's hair has been left unattended.

“Honestly.” Kashuu can feel his earlier anxiety and relief slowly twisting into irritation. “It's like you're a wild animal. When was the last time you combed your hair?”

Imanotsurugi laughs, the sound ringing in the massive, empty room like a bell. “Why would I? I have the master, don't I?”

“Listen here....” The comb catches on a snarl of silver and Kashuu hisses while he works it loose. “It's our responsibility to keep ourselves clean for the master, not the other way around!”

No real response comes for a while, only the sound of Imanotsurugi making the sing-song hum that Kashuu has learned is the mark of him thinking hard. The quiet goes on long enough that he works all of the tangles out of Imanotsurugi's lovely hair and even has time to twist it back into the neat loops it hung in the first time they met.

Imanotsurugi turns in place, the futon wrinkling further beneath his ungraceful movement. He pushes his way well inside Kashuu's personal space and cradles Kashuu's face in his small, white hands. “I like you, Kashuu Kiyomitsu,” he announces.

It is the first time Imanotsurugi has spoken Kashuu's name.

Imanotsurugi turns again and buries himself into his futon. Kashuu realizes he's been...dismissed, somehow, and is puzzled that he doesn't find the dismissal insulting. Better not to think about it too hard.

They settle into a dull routine, Kashuu, Imanotsurugi, the Samonji. A slow back-and-forth dance of fieldwork, training, bathing and sleep. Kashuu combs Imanotsurugi's hair every evening and twists and braids it into ever more complex styles. Imanotsurugi proudly shows the results to Sayo, who never speaks, only nods. The tomatoes and beans, along with Kousetsu and Souza, remain unmolested, though Kashuu still tenses every time he hears Imanotsurugi wandering the citadel late at night.

Days pass. Weeks pass.

After nearly two months of silence, the bell in the courtyard chimes. Kashuu bolts outside with Imanotsurugi in hot pursuit. The Samonji follow more slowly, Sayo still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Their master dotes on them all for several blissful minutes; Kashuu soaks up the praise and compliments like a cat soaking up sunshine. Imanotsurugi, who has climbed onto his back, laughs more joyfully than Kashuu has heard since his arrival.

For all his disappointment when the master eventually pushes past them and off to the forge, Kashuu is no longer surprised by it. He's come to expect that he is loved but not loved _enough_. Still, he tells himself, it is enough that the master returns to them again and again, no matter how short the stay.

The forge stays lit for hours. Kashuu tries to watch as long as he can before Imanotsurugi drags him away, demanding that Kashuu play with him. By the time he's able to get free again, the forge has gone silent, and the courtyard bell casts long shadows on the ground.

“Gone again,” he murmurs to the empty air.

“Who is?” says an unfamiliar voice behind him.

Kashuu turns on his heel and comes face to face with a sword he has never seen before, that he can only describe as _beautiful_. He crushes the thought that he will never be as beautiful, and never be as loved, before it can begin.

The sword smiles at him, elegant and refined and somehow wild. “Kashuu Kiyomitsu,” he says, and nothing more. Imanotsurugi peeks out from behind the new sword, bright and eager and with a red mark on his hand that looks like he's been bitten.

“Yes, that's my name. Although hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude not to introduce yourself—”

The sword presses a familiar comb into Kashuu's hand. Covers Kashuu's mouth with his own. Imanotsurugi's hand feels like a brand burning against Kashuu's thigh.

“Kogitsunemaru,” the sword says against Kashuu's lips.

Kashuu, too stunned to respond, only stares.

Kogitsunemaru smiles, more gentle than wild this time. The corners of his eyes turn up. This close, he's even more beautiful. It's a little unfair.

“You did very well,” he says, “better than nearly anyone else could have. You kept him _happy_. Thank you.”

“You're...welcome?” Kashuu feels terribly lost, but it's the only answer he has to give. The comb tines dig into his hand, small pinpricks of discomfort that he barely feels. Imanotsurugi's arms are wrapped tightly around his waist and Kogitsunemaru still stands close. Too close.

“I hope you will continue to take care of Imanotsurugi from now on. I hope you will take care of me, as well,” Kogitsunemaru says.

A request. A promise. A threat.

Kashuu feels small before these two swords.

Young.

And strangely loved.


End file.
